


Death's Door

by UP2L8



Series: Sex Shop AU [22]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25561576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UP2L8/pseuds/UP2L8
Summary: Desperate times.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: Sex Shop AU [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1232186
Comments: 37
Kudos: 176





	Death's Door

**Author's Note:**

> No warnings.

The evening Maes was shot, Roy was working late at the office, stressed and frustrated from dealing with a marathon barrage of obtuse and evasive assholes while maintaining his air of charming unflappability. Edward was at a birthday party for Winry somewhere downtown with Al, Paninya and a few other friends. Roy had a hot pink post-it stuck on his monitor as a reminder to pick the trio up at nine o’clock and drive them home, his gift to Winry so that she could have a beer or two.

And of course Roy was looking forward to it because there was a very good chance that Ed would choose to come home with him when they dropped off his brother and his friend at their apartment. He had been spending more and more time at Roy’s place lately, and Roy had a brand new key ring – engraved with Maxwell’s physics equations on one side and ‘Weapons of Math Destruction’ on the other – complete with a freshly cut set of keys to his home. It had been burning a hole in his pocket for the last two weeks. He planned to give it to Ed. One of these days. Soon. Maybe tonight. Roy was just waiting for the right time.

But the phone rang, and someone was telling him about an investigation gone wrong, of shots fired, and Maes-

Roy didn’t register any details beyond the fact that his friend was in critical condition.

He was at the hospital in minutes, not sure how he got there. No one could tell him anything; Maes was still in surgery. Hawkeye was there, and then she wasn’t, and then she was back. Nobody had any information about the patient’s condition, so Roy waited, pacing up and down the hall, dazed, absently chewing on a thumbnail.

Then Gracia hurried in, eyes dry but pale as a ghost. Roy took one look and with superhuman effort, pulled himself together. Standing in the waiting room, surrounded by the bitter aroma of antiseptic and cold terror, there was nothing he could do for Maes, so he reached for the single way that he could help. He pulled Gracia into a hug, and then set about being there for his best friend’s soulmate.

Over the course of the next few hours, the waiting room slowly filled with friends and colleagues. Police officers with faces both familiar and not rotated in and out, offering Gracia their quiet support. Havoc rolled in right behind Breda and Fuery. Falman was on the other side of the country, attending a convention, distraught that he could not be with them, in this, their hour of need. As was Gracia’s mother, who was at home with Elicia. Roy was in constant contact with her and other close friends who couldn’t be there, responding to texts hoping for news, but there was none. Hawkeye was in and out of the waiting room, restlessly pacing, in her own way trying to set what had happened into some kind of context that made sense.

As were they all.

Roy had to be careful to stay focussed, to keep his mind from wandering, to be _there_ , for Gracia. If he let his guard down, he knew where it would wander. The distant thump of artillery and tank shells, the steady drumbeat of helicopters, the whine of sniper bullets cutting the air, the crash and shudder of explosions - familiar monsters in times of extreme stress, always waiting to burst from the wings of his soul to take center stage, leering around the edges of barely contained panic.

Along with a seething _rage_.

As some of Maes colleagues shared what details they could about the incident, the more intense Roy’s anger became. From the sound of it, Maes and his partner had been checking on some discrepancies in a witness’s statement and had run into something unexpected. Maes was shot in the chest and had likely never even seen it coming. If Maes’ partner, Maria Ross, hadn’t been there to back him up, he would have bled out in the street.

The thought of Maes falling, bullet in his chest, shock on his face - it was all Roy could do to hold the red haze of fury at bay. What Roy wouldn’t give for the satisfaction of looking down the barrel of a gun into the terrified eyes of Maes’ faceless attacker, to feel his finger tighten on the trigger as he exacted his vengeance. Or to coolly destroy with his fists, systematically taking the other apart with the joy of righteous ferocity. The world saw too many good people cut down for no reason, and Roy couldn’t bear the thought of one more selfish person suffering no equitable consequence for doing reckless harm. Law and justice were not synonymous. It was a harsh reality that laws were often mainly for the protection of criminals. Justice was for victims, and there was far too little of it in the world.

An arm gently settled across his shoulders. Roy came back to himself to the light floral scent of Gracia’s perfume, one he remembered Maes picking out for her birthday. So much for keeping his head on straight. He was ashamed of the places his mind had taken him, for wanting to lean his head on her shoulder for comfort when he should be offering his to her.

Her voice was fragile. "I’m so glad you’re here," she said. “I feel so helpless.”

"He’s going to make it through this," Roy told her, softly but firmly, pushing every ounce of conviction he had into those words. “He’s strong, and far too stubborn to give in. He will fight with everything he has for the privilege of staying with you and Elicia.”

The glimmer of hope in Gracia’s eyes was proof enough that she had taken his words to heart. Roy wished he could match that spark to dull the fangs of his own fatalistic thoughts. Unfortunately, he had seen, many times, the inherent unfairness of the universe. And he definitely understood the helplessness of the situation. Roy was not a religious man, but some primitive part of him was fervently making desperate deals with nameless higher powers on the off chance that they might be listening.

While renewing his personal, internal promise to look after Gracia and Elicia if his best friend was unable to do so.

Roy wasn’t sure how he could ever come to terms with Maes’ passing, but he would have to, to fulfill his promise. It wasn’t something that Maes had asked of him; nevertheless, it was a responsibility Roy would shoulder. Roy loved Gracia and Elicia, just as he loved Maes. To step up and make sure that Maes’ family was cared for was a given.

But the thought of the devastation they would suffer, the hardship, the grief – Roy shuddered, falling numb against the onslaught of the days to come if Maes did not survive. Dark scenes cascaded before his mind’s eye, one after the other. Gracia was a strong woman, but Maes was the other half of her soul. Roy had no doubt that she would rise above her grief for Elicia’s sake, but it would be difficult. She knew Roy would be there for her, as would her mother, Hana, a soft-spoken woman in her early sixties, who doted on her daughter, granddaughter, and son-in-law. She would be there to support Gracia without a doubt, though she would likely be devastated as well.

Worst of all, Roy couldn’t wrap his head around how they could possibly explain to Elicia that she would never see her daddy again. What comfort could anyone possibly offer?

God, he was exhausted. The weight of the situation pressed into him; the long, hard road that a future without Maes Hughes offered was coldly bleak.

Then concerned golden eyes were dragging Roy back to reality, pushing a cup of something warm into his hand and waking him from the miserable distractions of an uncertain future.

“Edward? How did you…” Roy let it fade, nuzzling into the hand that cupped his face.

“No one came to pick us up, so—”

“Oh shit,” Roy gritted, “I forgot all about . . . I should have—”

“We were fine,” Edward reassured him. “Uber’s a thing.” He shrugged. “We figured something came up. But we were worried, especially when we saw breaking news about a shooting in the 55 on the club’s tv. Winry scared up the details when we got home. I knew you’d be here. I thought I should come,” he looked to Gracia, “to show our support. And to let you know, if there’s anything you need, me, Al, Winry, we’re here for you.”

“Thank you for coming,” this from Gracia, quietly, hands folded around a cup similar to Roy’s. She glanced around the crowded waiting area. “Maes has touched so many lives; it helps, just knowing good people care.”

Roy took a sip of his coffee, and was surprised by how good it was. He glanced around and noticed a couple of Timmy’s ten-cups parked on one of the low bench seats, with grateful people gathered around waiting their turn to grab a cup. Roy looked at Ed, eyebrows raised.

Ed grimaced. “I’ve been around hospitals often enough to know that at this hour nothing nearby is open, and that a cup of decent coffee is always welcome.”

“Thank you, Ed,” Roy said. “That was thoughtful.”

Gracia nodded her agreement.

The night trudged on into the wee hours of the morning. Still sitting beside Gracia, her hand in his, Roy noticed Breda dozing, his head on Fuery’s shoulder. Ed was talking quietly with Havoc and Hawkeye, all three leaned in to keep their voices low. Others were sitting mutely, offering and drawing support from each other’s presence in their silent vigil. Despite the calmness of the room, the atmosphere was tense, and as the hours dragged by, apprehension grew.

Was the length of the surgery a good sign, or a bad one? A good one, surely? It had to mean that the surgeon was putting every effort into saving his patient, didn’t it? Or was it because there was so much damage that as one problem was resolved, another had to be addressed? Was the surgeon floundering in a desperate situation, trying to save a patient past the point of no return, unwilling to admit defeat?

All the ways that things could go wrong started spiraling through Roy’s mind, shouldering his attempt at optimism roughly aside, and he realized that he was well on his way to a full-blown anxiety attack. He struggled to pushed it all down, falling back on the strategies he relied on to ward them off. He took deep breaths as unobtrusively as possible, his eyes darting around the room for something to concentrate on in order to ground himself. The first thing his desperate eyes came to rest upon was Edward.

Four things Roy could see: honey-gold hair, a glorious crown; intense gold-leaf eyes, so expressive, so honest; sun-gilded skin, scarred, yet perfect in every aspect as far as Roy was concerned; strong muscular build, flawlessly proportioned, beautifully balanced, graceful in motion.

Three things he could touch: that satin-smooth mane, how it felt slipping carelessly through carding fingers; the velvet softness of skin, how the warmth of it seeped into Roy’s palms; the firmness of toned muscle, the supple flex of it under Roy’s hands.

Two things he could smell: the comfortable scent of warm skin; the trace of tart apple shampoo from gorgeous hair.

One thing he could taste: those luscious lips, more intoxicating than the finest wine, Roy couldn’t get enough.

Perhaps he felt the pressure of Roy’s gaze, because Ed glanced his way and caught him staring, lifted an eyebrow, questioning. Roy shook his head with a rueful smile. Ed walked over and parked himself in the seat next to Roy.

“How are you doing?” he asked lowly.

“Better now,” Roy answered.

“Sap,” Ed observed with a small smile.

Roy responded in kind, marveling at how Edward had slotted himself into Roy’s life so seamlessly that Roy could hardly remember what it was like not to know him, and most certainly didn’t want to. A year and a half from their first meeting, and Roy was dreaming of a future together with this man after so many years of flying solo, and expecting that never to change. And yes, he had always been something of a sap, but now he was an utterly smitten, hopelessly romantic sap, waxing poetic at the sight of his lover across the room. It was unprecedented, and Roy wasn’t the least bit surprised that his aunt found it beyond hilarious.

As did Maes.

After all the years he’d spent rolling his eyes in annoyance at the man, listening to him insist that all Roy needed was to meet the right person, the person meant only for him, who would not only fit into Roy’s life, but would make it infinitely better, a soulmate in the truest sense. Now to discover that there actually _was_ someone who Roy could trust, to feel at home with, who would accept Roy for who he was without hesitation. Who Roy _wanted_ to share his life with, and how much better it already was. Maes had been right all along.

Though that didn’t make the man any less of a pain in the ass.

The last time Roy had spoken to Maes, he’d been in a hurry to get off the phone, annoyed with his friend for prattling on and on about a new outfit Elicia was wearing to school that day. Roy had cut him off rather abruptly. He’d had to take another call and had hung up on Maes’ cheerful laughter.

That had been just this morning. It felt like a lifetime ago. What Roy wouldn’t give to have his friend rambling on about his family right now, to wake from this nightmare, get up to splash his face, and have it all fade away.

The anxious people in the waiting room had been quietly talking amongst themselves all evening, but suddenly the room fell deathly still. Roy looked up in confusion and saw the surgeon walking toward them, tired, face completely unreadable. Roy stood to help Gracia cross the floor with his arm for support. And the support was most definitely mutual.

“Mrs. Hughes? I’m Dr. Marcoh,” the doctor stated gently. “Your husband is out of surgery. He was very lucky.”

Roy felt Gracia sag against him. “He’s going to be alright?”

“That is my prognosis,” Dr. Marcoh said with quiet confidence. “The bullet fractured one of his ribs, but it missed his heart and major arteries. It punctured his pleural cavity and lodged in his left lung; I removed it. He suffered severe hemorrhaging however, and due to the nature of the injury, the risk of infection is high. I was able to stop the bleeding, and we have started him on intravenous antibiotics by intermittent infusion, which we’ll continue for the next few days. He’s in recovery right now and will have to stay in Intensive Care until we’re sure he’s out of danger. But it is my considered opinion that he will make a full recovery.”

They had been speaking too quietly for anyone else to hear, but when Gracia broke down to say, “Thank God. Thank God," over and over, the whole room breathed a collective sigh of relief. Tears filled Roy's eyes, and Havoc broke down sobbing like a drunk. Everyone started talking and the good news was passed along.

Maes.

Love welled up inside Roy for his friend. They had been best friends through thick and thin, through good times and bad. Maes had saved Roy’s life more than once, out in the field, as well as after Roy had returned to civilian life, shattered, but never alone thanks to Maes. The joy Roy felt at that moment, knowing that Maes was still with them, made the tears flow freely, and he wasn't the slightest bit ashamed of them.

Roy excused himself to the hallway to set about calling and texting those who still needed to be put at their ease.

The first was Gracia’s mother.

“Hana, it’s Roy. He’s going to be okay.”

The explosive sigh of absolute relief told Roy that Hana had been holding her breath when she answered the call. Maybe even all night. She wouldn’t have been the only one. “Oh my God, I’m so glad.” It sounded like she was holding back tears. Roy wasn’t even bothering to try.

“He’ll be in the hospital for a while from the sound of it, but the surgeon is confidant that he will make a full recovery.”

"Is Gracia there? Can I speak to her?"

Roy looked back into the waiting room. Gracia was gone. "She is, but I don’t see her. I'll have her call you as soon as I do."

"Please do. And thank you for being there Roy. You’re a good friend."

Roy had a few more calls to make. When he finally pocketed his phone, Roy went back into the waiting area, but Gracia still was not there. Most of the people who had been keeping vigil were taking their leave, relieved that Maes would pull through, including Roy’s former officers. Riza, wheeling a still distraught Havoc toward the exit, told Roy that the doctor had allowed Gracia in to see Maes.

With a message to deliver, Roy set out down the corridors, searching for Gracia – and hoping to see Maes as well - until he heard some nurses talking at a desk by the post-op ward.

"He just ignored us let her in,” one was saying.

“Dr. Marcoh is always doing things like that. I don’t know how he gets away with it,” complained another.

"He’s an old friend of the chief surgeon,” the first one explained. “I think they served in the military together.”

Another frowned. “If he’s a buddy of Dr. Knox, I’m not arguing. That man is a terror. I’d like to keep my job."

Roy slipped quickly past them to peek through the windowpane in the door. Gracia was sitting by a bed. Roy couldn’t see Maes’ face from his narrow vantage, but Gracia was holding her husband's hand and talking to him.

"Excuse me sir. You are not supposed to be here." It was one of the nurses.

“Sorry, I was looking for Mrs. Hughes,” Roy said, apologetic. "And hoping to see Mr. Hughes too, if I’m honest. Is he awake?"

The nurse looked through the glass at the couple and smiled a crooked smile. "No. He’s still unconscious, but that’s not stopping her. We see that a lot, after someone almost loses a loved one."

“Understandable.” Roy smiled back. "I’ll just get out of your hair.”

Making his way back to the waiting room, Roy lost himself to his thoughts.

It was so easy to assume that tomorrow was a given, even for someone who really should know better. Nobody could ever know what fate had in store. One minute you could be sitting in your office bitching about all the assholes you had to deal with on the daily, and the next could find you sitting in a hospital wondering if you would ever have the chance to be annoyed with your best friend again, hoping against all hope that he knew just how important he was to you. In that context, putting off doing, and saying, and showing the people you cared about just how much they meant was about as stupid as procrastination could get.

Though it was well into the early morning hours, Roy was not surprised to find Ed still in the waiting room, waiting for Roy, there for whatever Roy needed from him. His thumbs were busily tapping out a message, likely an update for Al and Winry on Maes’ condition. The good news was spreading from its source like ripples in a pond.

Edward looked up at Roy’s approach, and his face lit with a smile so fond it melted Roy’s heart to a pool of warmth in his chest. Roy loved that smile. He slipped his hand into his pocket, and the keychain slid into his palm.

Screw procrastination. There was no time like the present to make those important gestures.

**Author's Note:**

> When an FMA fanfic has Maes Hughes in it, I always worry that at some point he’s going to get killed off. So if you’re like me, here. He’s not going to die. Rest easy. 😊


End file.
